Seeing In Color
by Minirose96
Summary: Everyone sees in black and white until he or she falls in love with his or her soulmate. Dedicated to Canibecandid :*
1. Seeing In Color

****Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!****

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><p><strong>Seeing In Color<strong>

Molly gasped the first time their hands touched. Her eyes had grown wide, and for a few moments, she had refused to let go, despite his clear discomfort at her clinging.

She let out a breathy "Don't you see it too?" as she finally let go.

Sherlock just arched his brow. "I see nothing except black and white. Just as I always have."

She looked so crestfallen then. Sherlock never understood why.

Oh, of course, he _knew,_ but he never saw the point of it.

Every individual was born seeing in black and white, until they fell in love with their soul mates. It wasn't enough for the two halves to meet, and love alone wasn't enough. The combination of the two occurrences in tandem with each other, however, literally opened up a new world of color to both parties, as long as they touched.

Separated, the world once again faded to grey, but together, they brought a new dimension to their lives.

It was some biological anomaly that caused it, though it had never been fully proven exactly that the anomaly was.

Sherlock had never seen in color. He had never seen the importance of color.

Molly's reaction was obviously some sort of false positive brought on by her infatuation with him.

When he left the morgue that day, he didn't think twice about it.

… … … … … … …

Sherlock still didn't understand color. He had witnessed John's relationship with Mary after his return, had seen how their being together had affected his friend.

John said once that seeing in color was the most beautiful thing. Even the ugliest colors were more beautiful than black and white.

To be able to see the flush rushing to his bride's cheeks, to be able to see the colors painted into the great works of art made by those who could see the colors they melded together.

Sherlock didn't see what he was missing out on.

Color, after all, is just color. It doesn't make the trash any more inviting or the violin's sound any shriller or sweeter.

… … … … … … … …

Tom didn't give Molly the color she craved.

Oh, he was nice enough. He took care of her, gave her a piece of a future, but he never brought the color she wanted to see.

She knew why, of course, but she wanted so badly for it to appear without Sherlock's help.

A foolish dream.

Tom said he didn't mind not seeing color, because he was happy with her.

If only she could have said the same.

It really was her fault that their engagement had ended.

She should have said no when Sherlock asked her to solve cases with him.

She should have stepped away from him when he bent to kiss her cheek. But she'd just wanted to see color one last time. Just once more, she'd promised herself, and she'd never do it again.

Such a stupid thought.

… … … … … … … …

When Molly slapped him, each time had stung.

He would have stopped her after the first, but he was too in shock to speak. It had nothing to do with the drugs coursing through his system, as everyone suspected, and everything to do with the colors that had lit up his world for the briefest instance that the contact had lasted.

He could see. He could see the angry red flush of Molly's cheeks, and the honey brown of her hair. He could see the light pink of her lips and the deep brown of her eyes.

Three strikes. Three illuminating flashes of color, and then, black and white again.

He finally understood why color was so important.

If only he hadn't had to choose.

… … … … … … …

He had to kill Magnusson.

He gave up color the moment he pulled the trigger.

Because John's world was more important than his own. His wife, who brought color to his life, and his daughter, soon to be born, were both more important in this instance than his own colorful world.

He'd be dead in six months, and never see color again. This was his choice.

He had no right to color anyway. Not from such a pure source as her.

… … … … … … …

Color is beautiful.

Sherlock knew it now, as he held Molly.

Moriarty was back. He wasn't going to die just yet. England needed him, after all.

Just as he needed his color.

He cupped Molly's cheeks, and smiled softly.

"I can see it now."

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><p>For Canibecandid :3<p> 


	2. The End

****Disclaimer: I own nothing! I claim nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters for my own pleasure and the pleasure of whoever reads this!****

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><p><strong>The End<strong>

_Color is beautiful._

_Sherlock knew it now, as he held Molly._

_Moriarty was back. He wasn't going to die just yet. England needed him, after all._

_Just as he needed his color._

_He cupped Molly's cheeks, and smiled softly._

_"I can see it now."_

... ... ... ... ... ...

Molly smiled softly in return. It didn't reach her eyes.

"I wish I did too."

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><p>The End ;)<p> 


End file.
